


good God, let me give you my life

by rainbowagnes



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Matt's had it bad for Elektra since the beginning, Wedding Rings, fluffy flashback to college shenanigans, talkin' bout the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 10:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11919045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowagnes/pseuds/rainbowagnes
Summary: He's been too far gone for her since the beginning, but Matt tries to Stay Chill as he talks about the future with Elektra.(Fluffy college flashbacks, because after The Defenders I needed this.)





	good God, let me give you my life

"We should get married." 

It slips out of his mind without thinking, lulled by the quiet peace of the morning. It's a Saturday and neither of them have anywhere particularly important to be, so they're lying in on Elektra's bed, feeling the lazy heat of the sun through her massive windows. The only time he's gotten up all morning is to try to make a coffee on her fancy machine, only to be befuddled by the inaccessible smooth, unmarked switches and electronic screen. (He's helped by strong arms that snake around him from behind, her face burying distracting in his neck.) 

Now they're back between her sheets, Matt wrapped around her as she pages through the weekend headlines on her i-pad, reading out the most outrageous headlines with her usual biting, accented commentary. He says that, though, and he immediately regrets it from the way she stills beneath him, heart skipping a beat. 

Shit. Fuck. Bloody fucking hell. No no no, everything with Elektra is casual and dangerous and it's all going to end when the semester's over and she goes back to her rich girl life in Athens and he's left to-

Her voice, harder and icier than he's ever heard it, cuts through his downward trajectory. 

"If you were ever going to pull this Catholic guilt bullshit on me, I would have thought it would be after the first time you fucked me in the back of a stolen Maserati." 

He chuckles, a veiled affirmation that yes, he would have gotten down on one knee right then and there (or, down on his knees in a different manner of speaking) if she'd only asked. Because he'd been gone from their first conversation in the tight-ass faculty party, that she was the sea that had pulled him under and that he'd be happy to drown in forever. 

It isn't just about the sex. (Although there's plenty of that as well.) It's about the sync they find themselves in, the daily give-and-take that he'd be happy to live in forever. It's about the long hours they spend in the public library poring over their work (and maybe making out in periodicals.) It's about the shared mission they go on to scare off the Starbucks employee who won't leave one of the freshmen girls alone. (Matt's the good cop, Elektra scares him till he shits himself in an alley, the man never resurfaces.) 

It's about the time she drags him all the way out to the Bronx on the subway to go to some Cambodian restaurant that pricks tears in the corners of her eyes. It smells like lime juice, chili paste, coconut milk and fish sauce, and, for Elektra, home. (She had a life before being the richer-than-God greek heiress, she offhandedly mentions over a table laden with fish amok, nom banh chok, Angkor beer. And for the first time, Matt has a feeling he might know a little about what it was. She keeps a tighter eye on money than any other trust-fund kid he's ever met but is looser with her wallet when it comes to tipping and buskers.)

It's about the times when they get drunk off their asses and collapse on his couch, screaming about the injustices of the world, young and dumb and fool-headed enough to think that they'll be able to do something about them. 

It's about the fact that this is the longest romantic relationship Matt's ever been involved in, the closest he's felt to another human being in years, and he better not fuck it up with his grand plans for the future. 

"Not now. My parent's got married young, and that- it didn't work out." 

She relaxes a bit under his touch, her hand reaching out to run through his hair. 

"But one day, you know. When I'm the fearless defender of New York-" 

"Mmmhmmm," she intones, egging him on. 

"Lawyer by day, protector of truth and justice who fights bravely on behalf of the innocent and the wronged." There's a hit of sarcasm in his tone that shakes him to the core because really, jokes aside, isn't that exactly who he's trying to become? 

"And what are you by night?" Her voice is almost a purr and it sends a shiver through him. 

"Well, in the evenings, I'm arm candy to the honorable Elektra Paraskevi Natchios, brilliant reformer of modern Greece. Does a lot of work with women's groups, immigrants, students- her people fucking adore her." 

"Fuck no. That sounds positively monarchist. My father would approve." 

"Fine. You're the ambassador then. Can't argue with that, can you, miss International diplomacy?"

She laughs. Fucking music. "I suppose not." And kisses him. 

"So tell me, Matthew, what about later at night, after the boring meetings are done? Who are you then?" 

He positions himself over her, leaning down and feeling her laugh into his kiss. 

"I think, Miss Natchios," he runs his hands up her sides, lifting the loose sleep shirt, "that's up to you to decide." And there isn't a lot more talking for a while after that. 

-o0o- 

"Alright," she says afterward. "I'll do it." 

"What?" 

"Marry you. One day. Three conditions, though." 

"Hit me." 

"No children. Which might be hard to wrap around that Irish Catholic brain of yours, but-" 

"Sure." He surprises her with the intensity of his answer. "Any other demands?" 

"It's in secret. No Greek tabloids, no way my father can use it to rub shoulders with politicians and the godfathers of the night." 

"Can Foggy come? I mean, I think we need a witness."

"Don't think you can stop him." 

"What's the last thing, sweetie?" 

He can feel her smirk. "Not one of those tacky Irish rings with the hands and the heart and the crown and all that crap." 

He pretends to feel offended. "A claddagh ring? You've broken my heart, Miss Natchios."

"I don't think your heart was ever mine to break." 

"It always has been. And it always will be." 

\----- o0o----- 

They get on with their day, second cups of coffee and class assignments and gyros for lunch and then continually beating each other in the ring at the gym. And then falling asleep on her couch to the sound of one of the romantic comedies she secretly has a thing for. And then he wakes up early the next morning while she's still passed out asleep and dressed for Mass and heads back to his shitty apartment. 

They don't talk about their conversation. They don't talk about the future, beyond wild drunk hypothesi about why most of the federal administration has irrevocably screwed up both America and the world. 

It doesn't even come up again until he's laying on a freezing marble countertop and watching her slice expensive cheese on his abs, and she talks about what happens "when we get married" and follows it off with a long list of things that push it into the realm of fairytales, and he laughs and plays along because it's a joke, but he can't help but wonder if it's always been a joke to her. 

And then Roscoe Sweeney happens.

And not for the first time in his life, Matt's world rends itself apart. 

After, when he's walked the miles home, the endless blocks in air that nips at his skin because he's a dumb ass who forgot to bring a jacket- After, when he's finally calmed himself down about the possibility of police of worse, Roscoe Sweeney's thugs coming to call- After, when he's finally got the door dead-bolted behind him, he reaches under his mattress and digs out a tiny box, velvet under his fingertips. He can even smell the hint of pure metal in the air. 

(It cost so damn much. It cost more than any single physical thing he's ever bought, more than the IKEA futon or the junkyard fridge Foggy helped him fix up or the three piece suit he was leant as a charity case. He didn't need to spend that much- Elektra has never asked him to spend anything on her, and he hadn't really been able too, even though it interfered with every rule of chivalry his dad had ground into him and Elektra had dismissed as archaic. But he'd wanted to, wanted to show her a glimpse of the future he had planned for them, and so with the aggravated shop attendant's help [and Foggy's, because even in whatever haze he was in he knew better than to trust the attendant's advice] he's chosen a double-shank gold ring with a ruby. Modern. Red. Gold. Her.) 

First thing the next morning, he throws the box into the Hudson. 

Ten years later, he wants it back. 

**Author's Note:**

> I know jack shit about cars so if anyone can give me the name of the car that Matt and Elektra stole I'll be forever thankful.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm really feeling these two right now so leave prompts in the comments or on my Tumblr @ghostborscht (I don't do anything NSFW but I love AUs! Leave me fluffy au ideas! There's a tragic dearth of Mattelektra AUs!)


End file.
